


Illumination

by Susan Smithson (charlottechill)



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottechill/pseuds/Susan%20Smithson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon watches Obi-Wan at drill practice, and contemplates things. Short, and er... somewhat inconsequential. *g*</p><p>It contains, barely, spoilers for one of the TPM children's novels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illumination

**Author's Note:**

> I had completely forgotten I had written this story (which might say some small thing about its general unimportance, heh), and only found out when I sent a note to M&amp;A to ask them to update my email address. The maintainer replied that she had done so, and also done it for "my other story on the archive." "What other story?!"
> 
> This one. So I figured I would put it here so as not to forget it again.

Imagine yourself pierced with a brilliant white light that does not burn. It radiates through you. It lives in every sinew, every cell, a constant caress of soothing, invigorating sensation. Sometimes a whisper, sometimes a roar, it is One with you as nothing else can be. It is One, as your body is One, because it is cellular, atomic. Sub-atomic.

That is the Force.

Now.

Imagine yourself pierced by a lover.

They are never truly inside your flesh, no matter how deeply they might penetrate whatever orifice you offer up. And you are never truly inside them if your positions happen to be reversed.

You cannot imagine the differences between these two experiences, I assure you. They are infinite and varied, and I have always believed that this must be why so many Jedi eventually choose sexual abstinence. The joy many beings perceive as intimacy, as true union, is but a shadow, ghostly pale in the light of the Force. The act that many perceive as pleasure, as the truest expression of physical nature, is but a sneeze, a sigh, insignificant to beings such as we, who know our bodies merely as tools to a higher purpose.

No more, and no less, than our lightsabers.

Do not mistake me; I've had my share of lovers. Sex brought some intimacy, yes, but... merely friendly. It pleased me to know a person sought my pleasure, and it pleased me more to seek his or hers. But it was, simply, friendly.

No more -- and often less -- intimate than staring deeply into that lover's eyes.

I have never experienced sexual intimacy Force-assisted. I have learned that the two do not complement each other, that the Force has little interest in the primal, grunting efforts of these casings of flesh. And so even sex with others like myself, sensitive to the Force, was merely friendly. Perhaps more friendly, if only because of the skills of observation and attention to detail that we Jedi have honed over our years of training. But still... only friendly.

So why, I wonder, do I look at Obi-Wan with such a different thought in mind? It is as if the Force in me calls to the Force in him, but I know this cannot be; the Force is One, it is everywhere. It knows no separation of body or space.

Still, this newfound desire for sexual union whispers to me. It whispers loudly, after decades of abstinence. And I wonder, does it whisper to my padawan as well?

There is only one way to find out.

"Obi-Wan."

His quick look as he immediately lowers his saber and waves off the drones he's drilling against makes me smile; so quick to obedience he is, so intelligent and mature, for all his youth. Only twenty years has this man seen, but he is still very much a man. I wonder, sometimes, if even that thirteen year old boy he was, the one I ordered not to die, was simply waiting to be this man before me now.

It is true that padawans spend a great deal of their lives waiting-- for maturity, for teachers, for advancement, for experience... though I know our training doesn't look much like waiting to an outsider. Perhaps that boy and this man wait still, for something yet to come.

"Yes, Master?" he prompts me, walking over, and I remove myself from these fanciful imaginings.

"Have you ever considered a sexual relationship with me?"

His eyes widen briefly, surprised by the question rather than its content. "Yes, Master," he replies. So calm he is, so sure, as if I should have known.

He has been physically mature for only five years, now. His liaisons, understandably discreet, have been fewer than those of many his age. But I trust him to know himself, his desires, his boundaries. I have always been compelled to trust him to know these things, as any master must trust the apprentice. "Well," I offer, leaving it to him, "What do you think you should do about it?"

"Do, Master?" Obi-Wan looks, for a moment, almost confused. The look clears quickly. "We should either couple, or not couple," he answers.

Logic. Acceptance. Do, or do not; ancient philosophy from the mouths of children. I rephrase. "What would you like to do?"

He pauses, giving the matter serious consideration. "I believe, if you wouldn't consider it an intrusion, I'd very much like to mate with you, Master."

Master. Still. Always. Just as Yoda will always be my master no matter my age or status. It's a sobering thought.

"Why?" I ask, honestly curious. I don't recall, in my youth, looking upon Yoda-or indeed any of my elders-with sexual desire. It's as if the thought never occurred to me at the time.

With that quicksilver grin, he cocks his head. He wonders if he's being tested in some way, and I cannot fault him for that. His entire life has been a test, and continues to be so. "I love you, Master," he replies, "your body and your mind, and the Force that flows through you that makes you unique. I expect we'd please each other well." He pauses, considering, and I watch his eyes move slowly over my kneeling form. "Under that robe," he murmurs, "is the body that houses my master, and you are in so many ways pleasing to me."

I nod, sensing his passionate curiosity. I feel the Force calling to me, in words I do not yet understand. "I see."

"And you, Master? Have you considered a sexual coupling with me?"

"Yes."

His grin flashes again, and he bites back what would undoubtedly be inappropriate witticisms at my expense. "Then, Master, you have a decision to make."

My padawan has never been much for unnecessary ceremony. He turns back to the drones and his practice, waving a hand to bring them back to life. And I sit back on my heels and watch him, observing the lines of him, the curves, the welcome and familiar form.

I close my eyes so that I might see more clearly, and the Force stirs within me—whispering, soothing, invigorating, as it was when I first felt it, universal and omnipresent, ever-changing yet always the same.

Yes, I do have a decision to make. I focus the light of the Force on the future, on avenues and pathways, possibilities and impossibilities alike, as all things are both in the living Force. I wonder what its illumination will show.

-the end-


End file.
